


i'd trade all the tomorrows for just one yesterday

by majesdane



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-22
Updated: 2010-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:34:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesdane/pseuds/majesdane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The comedowns are the worst, like a sad spiral into darkness.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'd trade all the tomorrows for just one yesterday

The girls in the clubs aren't quite Naomi, but they do for the night, the moment, the song. Emily can feel their hips bones pressed against her waist and knows that Naomi's not this thin, doesn't have all these sharp edges, but when the girl of the week presses heavy, wet kisses along the slope of Emily's neck, one hand slipping up her top, it's easy enough to pretend.

It's all a blur to her, the nights and what happens during them. By eight o'clock sharp each night she's either completely off her tits or properly spliffed (usually both) and the hazy smoke in the dark clubs makes everything that much harder to remember. The only things she does remember are the very things she's trying so hard to forget.

(she remembers fingers trailing along the inside of her thighs, a mouth against her ear, whispering soft, pretty words)

The comedowns are the worst, like a sad spiral into darkness. When reality hits her once more, like a stone tied to her foot, pulling her down to the bottom of the ocean floor. These moments are nothing like waking up on warm summer days in someone's arms, when she would be filled her with such a sense of possibility that her heart felt like it was about to burst.

Easy now, easy, girl of the week says, standing beside Emily in the alley beside the club, a hand rubbing her back as Emily straightens, wiping her mouth. Sick all over the ground; she can feel her stomach turn, her head ache, recoiling from it.

You had a lot to drink, you're pretty wasted, the girl says. A beat, then, You okay?

Emily manages a nod, even as she feels like throwing up again.

The girl pulls out a crumpled pack of Marlboros and a lighter, gets them both a fag. Emily takes a greedy drag of it, knowing it'll do absolutely nothing for her stomach. Or for her head. Already it's throbbing in anticipation for the morning, when she'll be so sore she won't even think about getting up. Even though she always leaves early now, just so that she doesn't have to worry about bumping into Naomi in the kitchen -- or anywhere, really -- before college.

It's seeing her again that --

You all right? The girl exhales a stream of bluish smoke. You look sort of ... she trails off, tilting her head, looking Emily over curiously, as if it's the first time they've seen each other. Maybe it is. The girl's face is blank, mouth a thin, hard line. Fucked.

Emily stares at the end of her cigarette, glowing red-gold in the darkness. I'm fine, she says. I'm just ... sad.

Well, everyone's sad, the girl says, and drops her fag to the ground, crushing it out delicately with the toe of her shoe.


End file.
